“Wile E. Coyote’s ACME Instant Tunnel at MIT” by Kenneth Lu – Flickr: Wile E. Coyote at MIT.
Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
Last week I had a colonoscopy.
I had been dreading it for months. Or more accurately, I had been dreading the pre-procedure preparation which involves fasting and drinking a foul-tasting laxative so that my lower intestine would be nice and clean for the camera.
While drinking my second 16-0z cup of laxative at 3am, I seriously questioned whether a colonoscopy was worth it. I was well aware of the risks a colonoscopy is supposed to address. I even know someone for whom the early detection made possible by a colonoscopy was, literally, a life saver.
When the procedure was complete and I was told everything looked fine, I felt a sense of profound relief. I assumed once the sedative wore off, I could simply pick up my life where I left off.
Not quite.
I expected that after fasting a full day and emptying out my digestive system I’d be ready to eat out the refrigerator. I was looking forward to pigging out on some comfort food like mashed potatoes or pancakes.
Oddly, however, I had very little appetite. Instead, I felt mostly bloated and nauseous…as though I had some kind of stomach bug.
I could only manage a little ramen and some cranberry juice before I went to bed that night.
The day after my procedure, I still felt bloated and nauseous. In addition, I was also feeling weak and dizzy. After running a few simple errands, I could barely drag myself into bed.
I guess being someone who is almost always in good health has left me with very little patience and ability to deal with feeling sick. And in this situation, I was feel so much worse, I panicked thinking something terrible was happening to me.
I wondered if I should call 911 but it didn’t feel like I was in danger. What was freaking me out was the fear that danger was imminent and just a matter of time even though I didn’t know what that danger might be. I didn’t understand what was happening in my body and I think what was ultimately most upsetting was there was no one I felt I could ask for help.
There was a time when I would have called my dad who was a dentist and had medical training. Even if he didn’t have the answer, he would listen to my symptoms and suggest what my next steps should be. My dad was the first person I turned to when I needed advice and reassurance. But my dad is now 83 and I was concerned that calling him would do nothing but upset him and upsetting my dad would upset me even more.
What I finally did was to reach out to people. I wrote an update on Facebook, I called my husband, and paged my doctor.
Like everyone, I hate asking for help. I hate being vulnerable and needy. I hate being in a position where I feel I have nothing valuable to offer and am at the mercy of others giving to me.
I was so afraid no one would respond. No one would be able to give me what I needed and then I’d really be in trouble.
But people did respond.
The nurse on call was reassuring. She suggested I drink a sports drink to restore my electrolytes and take probiotics to get my digestive bacteria working again. Quite a few of my friends and acquaintances on Facebook responded with good advice and wishes that I feel better soon. My husband sat with me while I cried and complained and experienced some really painful emotions.
And slowly, day by day I’ve been feeling better. My appetite has not fully returned. I’m still not feeling entirely back to the way I felt prior to the procedure. But I’m eating and I definitely feel more myself.
“Hitting the Wall” is when I feel that deep pain of isolation and the despair that there’s no one out there who can or will respond to my cry for help. This wasn’t a situation filled with trauma or drama. But trauma and drama isn’t a requirement for being in a dark place. I’d call this more a moment of extreme quiet desperation.
The good thing is I didn’t stay in that place. I reached out and asked for help and I received the reassurance that I have people in my life who care and want to help.
I feel deeply humbled and deeply touched by the experience.
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